Anticipation
by mistletoe-kiss
Summary: At Chez Chez, Brendan's anxiously awaiting Ste's return and mentally he's not coping all that well.


His fingers are twitching, feet drumming on the wooden floor from shaking legs and he feels his teeth clenched hard together.

A pale hand, which is a replication of his skin tone, is cautiously placed on his knee and its owner offers him soothing words, "Bren, calm down. This is the first place he'll come I'm sure."

Those words don't help; they don't alleviate his jitters of anticipation. He doesn't care whether Steven comes here first or not. What is bothering him is that he can't be one hundred percent certain that Steven won't have spontaneously decided to remain with his kids, having chosen them over Brendan because he was missing them too much.

On the optimistic side of things, if he does return to the village after visiting his kids, he knows he will end up coming straight to Brendan almost immediately, wholly unable to repel that magnetic pull as much as Brendan. And that is the most important thing. Knowing that fact gives him hope.

A small glass is handed to him, half-filled with the pleasant aroma of whiskey. Like a drug, Brendan inhales the scent, wanting it to take him over and knock him out of this state; needing to relinquish a level of control over his own actions.

Contrasting greatly to the smell, the taste burns his throat and he has a desire to scratch away that tingling sensation which teases him ever so seductively. And just for a moment the drink works, it pulls him away from this reverie, which is only hindering his reputation.

Once he downs the remnants of the spirit into his body though, his concentration reverts back to the waiting game. A pointless exercise that had been.

During the course of the evening his eyes have been practically glued to those stairs and he has achieved an acute awareness of how the top bar shakes tremendously once a person begins their ascent. Every time that bar has begun trembling, he's moved to the edge of his stool only to have to slump to the back of it upon sighting a bouncing bob of blonde curls owned by a curvaceous lady, reminiscent of her youth in dress, or a wild mane of jet black hair from some out-on-the-pull student bearing an idiotic grin. Every single fucking one of them evidently not whom he seeks.

Vaguely, Brendan's aware of a figure leaving his presence, more than likely his sister, having become bored with having a one-sided conversation.

There is little time to not have to tune out the mindless ramblings or gossip from another person before a staff member approaches. Thankfully they're not here to feed him drivel, needing his managerial help instead. Some scrap between two men, supposedly friends, over a woman. Typical. He storms to where the rowdiness is located. Every eye around is focused on the petty fight which only escalates as Brendan closes in.

Fists and elbows are thrown until one lands on the waiting palm of Brendan. The crowd silences and the hand's owner lifts his shocked eyes to spy Brendan's manic expression. He's soon tripping over his laces down the winding stairs.

There's his opponent to untangle from an array of garments yet-apparently having been thrown onto the fight by the onlookers- after having fallen into them. Brendan sends him on his way, not wanting to have to deal with any more potential upset, not tonight. He sighs and scours the other punters for signs of arising trouble.

At that point he jumps lightly to a touch on his back. A fingertip, Brendan realises, which trails across the contours of his back, spirals round the surface, and all the way down his spine. Only one person would ever have the nerve to do that.

After a smile tugs at his lips, Brendan spins suddenly, clearly surprising the individual behind. Those dark pupils surrounded by that blue hue firmly reciprocate Brendan's gaze, never once shifting from his face.

Brendan's own eyes float down to Steven's mouth and see teeth resting on the bottom lip, gently pulling at the flesh. In return, Steven's focus dips down to Brendan's mouth and his tongue sneaks out, glides over the lips. Those lips part and Steven has to clear his throat before he can speak. "Hiya," he manages to say, albeit gruffly.

Brendan gives no response and watches Steven's eyebrows furrow, he's trying incredibly hard not to smile.

Instead, Steven uses his touch to get Brendan to return the happiness he is evidently wallowing in from being in Brendan's presence again. He slips his fingers inside Brendan's jacket curling them around the opening, and presses his body into the suited man.

Steven's face seems to relax upon feeling the light push of Brendan's hands against his chest, believing him to be pleased to see him now. One look at Brendan indicates otherwise; his expression hasn't once wavered from a thunderous one.

"Thought you'd keep me hanging did ye?" Brendan murmurs just so Steven can hear and receives a head shake in reply.

Increasing the force he's exerting on Steven's torso, he starts to back Steven up, making a beeline for the wall at the back of the club, a part partially hidden in darkness.

"Didn't want to let me know when you'd be back or if you'd even be back at all?" He drawls in a harsh whisper, that mask on his face maintaining so he can keep up this game.

Steven stares at Brendan incredulously, "Course I was coming back! And anyway I told you me phone was dying, didn't I?" Steven retorts, clearly believing Brendan means what is leaving his mouth.

"Thought you'd tease me and make me want ye?"

They've reached Brendan's destination, and when Steven's back bumps the wall, he releases a groan which shoots straight to Brendan's cock.

Perhaps the corners of his mouth twitch, from thinking devilish thoughts about just how else Steven could make grunts similar to that; whilst Brendan's fucking him without reprise or having Steven ride his face.

Steven can sense something's up, Brendan knows and is struggling to keep this facade up anymore; it's too hard with this lad, particularly at this moment when he's unable to have one single innocent thought consisting of Steven being fully-clothed.

He leans right into Steven's ear, moustache tickling the skin and whispers, "Well, it worked Steven." He cups Steven's neck, digging his nails lightly into the wispy hair covering at the back and pulls away to search his eyes for any refusal. All he discovers is lust.

That little whiny voice of Steven's- which Brendan has developed a soft spot for- surfaces then. "Oi Brendan." He whinges, holding on the 'n' sound until it fizzles out. Brendan's thumb traces his bottom lip, but it's not even close to what Steven wants.

He's quick is Steven; sudden, catching Brendan off guard, and he's soon span Brendan around so that now _he's_ the one pushed against the wall.

"Just want a snog, right." He grins widely before moulding his lips right around Brendan's. And finally being able to appreciate his coming home.

* * *

my greeting to you :) ta for reading, let me know if you liked? xx


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